Vanity Blair
by Lyliss
Summary: Starring Mr Chuck Bass as the alluring rake, Mr Nate Archibald as the hapless yet handsome paramour, Lady Serena van der Woodsen as a peerless beauty and Miss Blair Waldorf as our innocent heroine... Regency CB *First two chapters rewritten*
1. Trials of the Marriage Mart

_SPOTTED: The most fortunate Miss Blair Waldorf wielding a conspicuous diamond ring – the spoils of war? It seems the Waldorf heiress has returned victorious from the battle over the famous Vanderbilt jewel. We hope you get what you wish for, B._

From the _Gossip Girl _column_, The New York Times, May 3__rd__ 1887_

* * *

The swagged and beribboned ballroom of the Astor townhouse was stifling, in both air and company, but not one of the corseted, painted and sweating personages in attendance would dream of departure before midnight at the earliest. The Astors' new built mansion was the place to be seen that season, despite the clogging air of too many flowers and the scent of sweat mingling with silk.

The only exception, perhaps, was a certain young man by the name of Nathaniel Archibald. He yearned, collar points wilting, for the peaceful solitude of his gentleman's club, a solid game of whist instead of dancing, stolid masculine company instead of this swarm of endlessly wittering females. Aside from, he reminded himself obediently, his recently acquired fiancée, Blair Waldorf.

Miss Waldorf was certainly a catch, he would proudly admit. She had impeccable breeding – Harold Waldorf could trace his descent back generations and Eleanor, his wife, had been one of the most renowned beauties of her day. To add to this the Waldorfs were also agreeably wealthy, owning a plethora of land and property in both city and countryside, and Blair was the sole heiress.

All this would make the most shrew-like female at least palatable as a wife. Nathaniel counted himself lucky that in addition, Miss Waldorf was certainly no trial to look at – dark-eyed and chestnut haired, with a straight nose and a mouth neither too large nor too puckered. She might pale in comparison to the more obvious blondes in fashion at the moment – her closet acquaintance Serena van der Woodsen, for example, a lithe, golden-haired nymph – but held no obvious imperfections. Such as, heaven forbid, a freckle. No, Blair's creamy skin was flawless, just like her reputation.

Unlike the aforementioned Miss van der Woodsen, Miss Waldorf knew how to behave with decorum. Nate had only ever been able to speak with her totally alone for the briefest of moments, whilst Serena's tarnished reputation had been saved only by her grandmother's eminent position in polite society and a well-timed departure to a Swiss finishing school. Rumours about the Moon, as some dewy eyed suitors and other less honourable admirers had named her, were rife, and not all complimentary.

Thus proposing to Blair had been no difficult task, if one he only endured for the sake of his family name and future. Seeing that the dark-haired object of his musings was currently twirling the ballroom in the arms of a young army officer, Nate rapidly went in search of the card-room.

"Nathaniel!"

Nate turned in some surprise, caught in the milling throng of matrons and bachelors near the doors. The voice which hailed him was that of Charles Bass, the son of the extremely wealthy - one might almost be so vulgar as to say filthy rich – Bartholomew Bass, who had made his fortune in the not to be spoken of occupation of shipping. He had risen from the ranks of the unspeakable middle class by means of expansive purchase of New York real estate, substantial charitable donations and his second marriage to Lillian van der Woodsen, widowed mother of Serena. This, aided by an undeniable wealth, just about made Chuck Bass admissible into the hallowed halls of New York society.

Who says money can't buy class?

Chuck visited there rarely, preferring opera girls and light skirts to simpering debutantes, and on the rare occasion he did, he lurked around the card tables, so Nate was surprised by his unexpected appearance.

"Chuck?" Nate knew the Bass heir well, their having been at St Jude's and then the same college together.

"Walk with me, Archibald," commanded Chuck, having tossed back his customary scotch and thrown his cards on the table amongst a scattering of IOU's. Somehow Nate found himself doing exactly that.

"How do you do, my good man?" asked Chuck in his easy drawl as they began to stroll around the room. He nodded to a less than respectable widow in the corner, who blushed and turned away.

"Well enough, thank you. What are you doing back in town, Chuck? I heard rumours that your father was threatening to banish you to Europe. Did your gambling debts finally become too much for him?"

"He did indeed threaten," answered Chuck with a slow smirk. "For once, Gossip Girl was at least partially correct." Chuck seemed unashamed of the fact he read Gossip Girl's column, unlike much of society. "Let's just say... we struck a deal." Chuck's eyes were already drifting towards the whirling dancers with their heaving bosoms and fluttering hemlines. "Now let us talk about you, Nathaniel. What's this I hear about you becoming shackled to the Waldorf girl?"

"Hear?" repeated Nathaniel. "You didn't hear it, you read it in the _Times_, the same as every other gossipmonger we know."

"Easy, Archibald." Chuck searched out the petite figure of Blair Waldorf in the crowd above his friend's shoulder, taking care to slouch back his shoulders. "How did you do it, may I ask?"

"Do what?" said Nate, confused.

"Propose. Pop the question."

"Oh. Er... well, I went down on one knee, presented her with a bouquet of flowers and offered her a ring. Oh, and I asked her to marry me."

"What kind of flowers?"

"Roses, I believe."

"She favours peonies," said Chuck absentmindedly, "Pink ones, specifically. Very pink ones, not weakling almost white ones, and not too many leaves."

"Does she?" Nate stared at his friend, bemused. "How on earth did you know that?"

"I was rather aggressively informed of it once, when I made the grave mistake of offering her roses."

"You gave her flowers?" questioned Nate in a surprised tone. "When?"

"Many years ago, in my misguided youth," answered Chuck enigmatically. He tilted his head in the direction of a nearby debutante batting her lashes in Nate's direction. "I do believe that Miss Coates wishes to dance with you."

"Er – what? Chuck –"

Chuck gave his friend a slight shove in her direction and said airily over his shoulder, "You don't mind if I take Miss Waldorf for this dance, do you?"

Before Nate could agree or disagree, his friend had melted into the crowds.

"Good evening, Mrs Waldorf." Chuck Bass came to a stop in front of the lavender patterned loveseat that Lady Waldorf and her daughter had occupied, a position carefully chosen from which to discreetly see and most definitely be seen.

"How do you do, Mr Bass," Eleanor greeted him. The Basses might be a little too _nouveau riche _for her taste, but what they lacked in class the more than made up for in wealth and, it was whispered, influence. Not for nothing were they known as the landlords of New York. Besides, the son had a certain charm about him.

Chuck turned to the dark haired maiden beside her mother. "Miss Waldorf, may I have this dance?"

Wary of her mother's curious eyes, Blair bit back a sigh and took the proffered hand. He placed a light kiss on her knuckles before leading her onto the floor.

"My dance card is full," she informed him haughtily, but made no move to leave.

"I don't see you protesting."

"Anything for an old friend," she smiled coldly. "I see Nate is occupied already."

Chuck glanced his way and made sure to draw Blair a little closer. "What are you doing in New York, Bass?" asked his partner.

"What, no social niceties, Waldorf?" Chuck raised his brows mockingly.

"I like to think I have known you too long for that, Bass, or perhaps I simply don't want to waste my time. Why have you returned?"

"It may have escaped your notice, Waldorf, but I and several thousands in fact call New York home."

"But why here?" pressed Blair. "And why now? I can't remember the last time Is say you at a any sort of social event, let alone a ball. In fact I can't remember the last time I saw you. Surely there aren't enough ladies of the night here for your exacting tastes?"

Chuck ignored the jibe. "Or perhaps I missed you, Waldorf." He pressed his hand a little closer on her waist, which Blair carefully ignored.

"Missed torturing me, more likely."

"Simply pining, Waldorf. However, on a more serious note, there is something I must speak to you about."

"A matter of the gravest importance, I suppose?" Blair rolled her eyes.

"Yes, actually. Perhaps we could find somewhere a little quieter?"

"Please, Bass, credit me with a little sensibility. I am not about to enter some hidden alcove so you may attempt to ravish me."

"If I ever want to ravish you, Waldorf, rest assured you will ignore your sensibilities. Truthfully, you will not want this information overheard on a crowded dance floor."

About to reply with a scathing retort, Blair noticed the serious slant to his mouth. It was rare that Chuck spoke in anything but bantering tones, but tonight he seemed serious, almost concerned. She frowned.

"Bass, I-" Blair fell suddenly silent, like the rest of the ballroom. Only the music played bravely on, ignoring the hush. She stood immobile, her shadowed eyes fixed behind on a sight behind Chuck's shoulder. He turned to follow her gaze.

There, framed between the finely polished double doors, clothed in an indecently low cut, navy blue gown, diamonds at her throat, stood none other than Serena van der Woodsen.

* * *

_SPOTTED: Serena van der Woodsen, making her triumphant return at the Astor ball._

_Was it only a year ago our scandalous heiress mysteriously disappeared for a quote "finishing school"? And just as suddenly she's back..._

* * *

Blair stood frozen, Chuck's arm around her waist and her hand in his, staring at the doors. The spell broke and several of so-called friends and admirers began to make their way towards the newcomer.

"Blair," said Chuck, pinching her fingers slightly. Blair looked up at him as if waking from a dream.

More like a nightmare.

"What is she doing here?" she hissed, as if expecting Chuck to know the answer.

"I don't know," he said irritably. "Does it matter? Listen, Blair -"

"No, _you _listen," Blair said ferociously. "I don't know what you're planing, but I'm not about to play your little games, Chuck. If I were you, I'd go straight back to your little hole in the country and stay there. Don't bother me again."

She wrenched her fingers out of Chuck's hold and left him on the dance floor. He watched as she delicately made her way through the crowds, a porcelain dolls among the painted puppets.

"Serena," she said, stepping forward carefully towards the tall blonde. She laced her arms around Serena's shoulders in and squeezed slightly in the pretence of a hug. "How wonderful to see you. You have been missed in the city. But I have to go now, if you'll excuse me. I feel a little unwell."

Serena looked at her, confused. "I'll call on you tomorrow, Blair," she told the brunette's retreating back.

"I'm so glad you're back, Serena."

Serena turned to the young man beside her. "Nate. Blair just left -"

"I came to talk to you, not Blair."

Serena frowned. "No," she said quietly.

"But you're back now-"

"I didn't come back for you," said Serena firmly, steeling herself against the hurt that flashed across Nate's face. "Look, Blair's my best friend," or_ was_, said the tiny voice in her mind, "and you're her fiancé, and she loves you. That's the way things are supposed to be."

Serena turned and walked away.

* * *

_Has the bad girl really gone good? Or is it all just part of the act? Why did she leave? Why did she return? Send me all the details. _

_And who am I? That's one secret I'll never tell._

_The _only _one._


	2. A Night at the Opera

Chapter II: A Night at the Opera

_SPOTTED: Serena van der Woodsen, at the the Astors' ball, talking with Blair, smiling at Nate and dancing with everyone..._

"Trust your daughter to wear royal blue to her first ball back in New York," said Eleanor Waldorf, not without a touch of admiration. She lifted the elegant silver teapot and poured out a graceful stream of hot liquid into a fine china cup.

Lady Serena's appearance had caused many disapproving stares the night before, and admiring glances in at least equal number. Most young debutantes restricted themselves to modest gowns in whites and pastels. Nor did they were much more than a string of pearls about their necks. Many stately matrons seemed to have taken Serena's brazenness as a personal affront, muttering belligerently behind their fans.

"I know," said the former Mrs van der Woodsen. Before that she been simply Miss Lillian Rhodes, and was now Mrs Bartholomew Bass. "She shall become the ruin of me. Thankfully my mother adores her."

The two women were seated in the drawing room of the Waldorfs' Upper East Side townhouse, sipping tea and nibbling small cakes. Close friends before Eleanor's marriage and Lily's first, the Waldorf household had been Lily and Serena's first morning call.

This establishment was still colloquially known as the Waldorfs', despite the well-known but unspoken fact that Harold Waldorf rarely, if ever, occupied it, and especially not during the social season. He preferred to remain with his hunting and fishing on their Hampton estate, or, a lesser known fact, in a quiet house in Paris with few for company.

"How is dear Cece?" asked Eleanor. Lily compressed a sigh. "Well, as ever. She's gone to the Hamptons for her health but I believe she means to return before the end of this season. Something tells me she's determined to see Serena married. Speaking of which, it seems you are to be congratulated. Blair is affianced to Nathaniel Archibald, I hear? They do make a handsome couple."

Eleanor smiled with a trace of smugness. "It was a complete surprise, of course. And a beneficial one. The Archibalds might not be quite in the realm of the Basses, but the Captain owns a yacht. Blair does adore sailing," she said smoothly, knowing full well that Blair refused point blank to set foot within a mile of a beach. "And there is the ring, of course."

"The ring," agreed Lily. "If only Serena would settle down. I feel I am powerless to stop her ruining her good name. Only Cece's influence saves her from total ruin, but her patience is growing thin. She has her eye on the Baizen boy for Serena, I believe, and I of all people know my mother has no scruples. If something stands in the way of her wish, she shall stop at nothing to eliminate it. "

"Carter Baizen is quite a catch, I believe," observed Eleanor. "Serena should think herself fortunate indeed if she receives a proposal from him."

"One would think so. But Serena is headstrong and quite wilful, I fear. I blame myself, of course..."

The two matrons allowed themselves a smile at the thought of their youth, the one virtuous, the other rather more adventurous, and then Lily spoke again.

"These cakes are quite delicious, Eleanor. Speaking of which, did you hear about the Buckley girl and the French cook?"

Downstairs in the parlour, Blair and Serena sat poised with delicate teacups and tiny, mouthful sized cakes. Blair cast a furtive glance at the chic cut of Serena's muslin gown. "I suppose you had all the latest fashions so close to Paris," she said enviously.

"Yes," answered Serena, although her mind seemed elsewhere. "I shall bring you some fashion plates tomorrow if you wish."

The conversation dwindled for a few moments, during which Blair sipped at her lukewarm tea in the way a young lady was supposed to do and Serena glanced around the room as if looking for a distraction. She bit her lip and then said suddenly, "There is something I must ask you, Blair."

Blair looked up, interested by the curious note in Serena's voice. "You know you can ask me anything, Serena," she said dutifully, although the words sounded hollow.

Serena took a deep breath and her saucer trembled. "Is it true that Nate Archibald proposed?"

Blair paused at the unexpectedly simple question."Yes," she answered, unable to hide the pride in her voice. "To me."

After all, all her childhood dreams were coming true.

She set her teacup down on the table nearby and straightened her left arm towards Serena, displaying the ring finger, and the gold band adorned with a generously sized - one might almost say ostentatious - diamond. "And I accepted."

"The Vanderbilt ring," said Serena. "It is certainly very shiny. Congratulations. Are we to meet Nate in Central Park this afternoon?"

"Yes. Isn't is scandalous, Serena? They say Central Park is famed for its secret trysts. One is sure to see a pickpocket there. I do believe -" Blair's excited words were interrupted by a knock on the door. A footman entered, bearing a tray in the precise centre of which was placed a folded note. "A letter for Miss Waldorf," he said, bowing extravagantly.

Blair unfolded the paper, pondering who might have written to her. Nate most likely, or Serena; but the latter was here and Nate would most likely come in person. In fact, Blair had never known him to pick up a pen.

Her curiosity growing, she quickly read the few words contained on the page.

_It is imperative that we speak, as soon as possible. I presume that you shall be present in Central Park this afternoon. If you are not, be forewarned: I shall be forced to call on you at your home. ~ CB_

Scowling, she savagely crumpled up the note, forgetting Serena's presence for the moment, and threw it into the fire grate.

Not even Serena was that unobservant, however. "B? Who was the note from?"

Blair huffed in unladylike irritation. "A troublesome suitor saying that he shall attend this afternoon and ruin my fun," she lied. Well, it was only partly a lie. "I have half a mind not to go after all."

"Oh B, don't you want to see Nate? Besides, I always find the most effective way to taunt suitors is with your unattainable presence." Serena smiled wickedly.

"Yes, but I, unlike you, am not a tease," said Blair primly.

"Why, thank you, B. But that doesn't matter as much anymore, does it? Now you have Nate under your spell and his ring on your finger," she coaxed.

Rolling her eyes, Blair reached for a fresh piece of paper and her ink pen from the writing table. "I am most certainly not going to lower my behaviour just because I have received a proposal._ However_..." she scribbled a few words onto the paper, folded it deftly and handed it to the waiting servant. "I fail to see why I should curtail my pleasure simply for the whims of others."

"Only because you love the ducks so," teased Serena. For a moment it seemed they were as they used to be.

"Quiet. Now come and help me choose what to wear."

_Do not. BW_

At more or less the same time, in a much less fashionable part of the same city, a young man by the name of Daniel Humphrey sat scribbling diligently with a fountain pen. He had discarded his waistcoat and rolled up his shirt sleeves to reveal ink splattered forearms.

The door to his bedroom opened without ceremony. A slight girl stood in the doorway, a few years younger than Dan, dressed in a gown several seasons out of date. Her long blonde hair was pulled into two plaits for the sake of keeping it out of the way. The Humphreys – the two siblings and their scatty father, a failed composer – received visitors rarely. They were of good family, but their father steadfastly did not believe in the gentry, though he had sent his son and heir to St Jude's, the most expensive school in the city.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" asked Dan, a sentence he uttered at least a dozen times a day.

Jennifer shrugged and settled herself on the bed. "Daniel. What are you going to do with your life?"

Dan put down his pen with a flash of irritation. He was close to finishing his latest poem, but not even Byron could write with his sister in the room.

"What do you mean?"

"Dan, you left college months ago and you're not even close to finding employment."

Before Dan could answer, the door opened again and their father entered. He was a tall man, sharing Dan's dark hair and bright blue eyes, although his hair was a little longer.

"Why yes, father, please do come in uninvited and join the family council in my bedchamber."

Both members of his family ignored him.

"I've got you a present," Rufus grinned, clearly proud of himself. He joined his daughter on Dan's bed, obviously here for the long run. Dan refrained from knocking his head on his desk, since he was clearly the only sane one in his family.

"Tickets for the opera. We're all going tonight."

Jenny simultaneously rolled her eyes and slumped back onto the bed. "Da-ad," she moaned. "I haven't got anything to wear."

"Nonsense," said Rufus brightly. "Why don't you just make something up this afternoon from one of your old dresses?"

"Not for the _opera_, Dad," drawled Jenny, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "All tof societywill be there. I can't turn up in some remade castoff."

"I'll let you wear the pearls."

"Really? Thank you, Daddy!"

Despite Jenny's fervent denial, she was arrayed in a suitably chic pastel yellow gown with roses at her waistline and the string of pearls, formerly belonging to her late mother, around her slim neck. She had also chastised her brother into a new cravat and more fashionable clothes. The opera had been enjoyable and Dan had seen his father and sister into a cab, but decided to walk home thanks to an overindulgence of burgundy.

He hummed a little as he walked through the cobbled streets, lit only by gas lamps. The streets were mostly empty apart from the odd hackney cab.

A muffled shout from a shadowy alleyway made him look around. He turned his head with a sort of detached interest.

A young man was pressed against the wall by several scruffier ones. "Wait –wait-" he was slurring, as one hand went to his pocket.

Dan frowned. He recognised the victim from somewhere – his days at St Jude's, perhaps. Wasn't his name Archer, or something? His clothes certainly had a good cut, his boots were gleaming and there was the glint of a signet ring on one finger.

Something inside Dan propelled him forward. It was probably the drink. A voice shouted "Hey! What are you doing?" and a moment later Dan realised that it was his own.

The pair of oiks shared a look and then scarpered. They were only young, and although Dan rarely took exercise he was lean and looked like he could throw a punch. He was also far more sober than their first victim, who was now picking himself up from the wall and brushing at his coat.

"I say – I mean – thank you," said this gentleman to Dan. "Do I know you? There is a certain familiarity of face – weren't we in the first XI together?"

Dan was certain he had never touched a rugby ball in his life. He said helpfully, "No, but we were at St Jude's together."

"Oh yes – yes! I recall. Harvey, isn't it?"

"Humphrey."

"Yes. The name's Archibald, Nathaniel Archibald. Why don't you come and look me up while you're in town? My address is – is – my card-"

He fumbled in his pocket for a moment and then produced, with a triumphant look, a bent square and handed it to Dan.

"Until soon, then – then – good night."

He tipped his hat and stumbled off into the night, leaving Dan to stare at his card.


	3. Discontented Couples

**Vanity Blair**

_

* * *

_

_Chapter III: The Rain in England Falls Mostly on Discontented Couples_

_SPOTTED: H marking a possible return to Polite Society with a visit to the opera, together with his offspring. A victim of Lady B in his youth, has the failed social outcast finally seen the light with two children to marry off?_

The sky was clear but chilled when the party arrived at the famed pleasure gardens in the early afternoon, and Blair was glad of the warm pelisse which matched her dress oh-so-perfectly. She noted with distaste that another member of the party, Hazel Williams – such a _common_ name – had copied her customary hair ribbon, threaded beneath her bonnet, but decided to delay wreaking her punishment, momentarily. For now she had Nate to keep her company, and he never approved of her sly rumours.

The walking party set off through the park at a leisurely pace, Blair with her arm firmly through her betrothed's leading the charge, followed by the rest of the party – Hazel, Serena and a few select others – and finally their thankfully absent-minded chaperone. Of a certain fish-named male there was no sign, but due to experience, Blair was more wary than relieved.

"'Tis a lovely day, is it not?" she was saying happily to Nate, before they rounded a corner and walked directly into a trap.

"Good afternoon, all. What a choice afternoon for taking exercise."

He actually had the gall to feign surprise! Blair was seething.

Nate, however, seemed oblivious to any venomous or smug looks exchanged between the two brunettes. "Chuck! Why don't you join us?"

"Why thank you, Nathaniel," his friend drawled. He spent a particularly smirky look at Blair and fell into step with them. "I believe I just passed Lord Baizen in the other direction," he said to Nate, gesturing back the way he had come.

"Oh really?" Nate looked animated. "Miss Waldorf, I really must see Baizen about a horse. Would you mind?"

Blair was about to protest but Nate had already dropped her arm and started in the other direction.

"Why don't we go and feed the ducks, MissWaldorf?" asked Bass in a loud voice. "I know how you love the ducks."

Blair fought the urge to hit him, which would be unseemly. Instead she chose that moment to put up her parasol – the exact mauve shade of which matched her gown exactly – accidentally spearing Mr Bass in the head with a sharp prong on the way up. "Oh, I am so sorry, Mr Bass. My deepest apologies." She smiled sweetly.

Chuck resisted the urge to rub his head and took the cursed parasol in one hand, firmly tucking Waldorf's hand beneath his arm. "Allow me to carry your parasol for you, Miss Waldorf. We wouldn't want any strain to come to that delicate arm of yours."

He led her at speed down to the lakeside where the odd swan drifted lazily across the calm waters. She noted that on this particular day, his statement scarf was a shade of puce striped with gold – a combination which should, by the common laws of decency, compliment no one, although on Bass it looked somehow natural.

Seeing that the rest of the party were settling on a bench near the path, Blair detangled her arm from Bass's, scowling up at him. "Please refrain from doing that in future, Mr Bass. In fact, never touch me again. I feel contaminated."

Bass did not appear to take offence at this, which disappointed Blair. Instead he said in a teasing tone: "You didn't appear to mind so much last night, when we were waltzing."  
"I simply enjoy waltzing. Even with you. I would enjoy it with you or Nate or – or with a chimney sweep!"

"I don't think many chimney sweeps know how to waltz. Certainly not as well as me."

"I was trying to make a point, Bass. What do you want?"  
"Why, only you, Miss Waldorf."  
"Very droll, Mr Bass. Nate will be returning soon so make it quick. I don't want any more little notes arriving at my house. What would my mother think?"

Bass appeared to hear only one word out of her monologue. "Nate," he repeated. "Why are you marrying him, Blair?"

"Why wouldn't I marry him, Bass?" countered Blair. "He is handsome, charming and extremely eligible. Please refrain from calling me Blair. I hardly know you."

"As you wish, Miss Waldorf," said Bass stonily. Something in his eyes made Blair look away.

Ignoring any feelings of discomfort, she asked "Is that all – is it raining?" A few droplets hit the soft skin of her cheek.

Bass peered up into the sky, where grey clouds had gathered as quickly as suitors to Serena. "Yes. Come on." He headed under the canopy of a nearby tree – neatly hidden, a subconscious part of Blair noted, from the view of their friends – this time without touching her. Blair followed anyway without thinking.

"I don't even have an umbrella," she complained. "This is all your fault, Bass."

"My fault?" he repeated incredulously. "What about this thing, anyway?" He waved the delicate lace trimmed parasol in the direction of Blair.

"It would get soaked in the rain," she informed him haughtily. "The lace would be ruined. And it most certainly is your fault, Bass. You dragged me all the way out here, away from any proper chaperone, under the pretence of needing to impart important information. You then proceeded to demand _why_ I am marrying my _fiancé_, who is also your _best friend_, and now my shoes will be _muddy_. Is there any reason for this madness?"

Bass reeled slightly from the onslaught but recouped with vigour. "Yes, there is."

"Does what you need to speak with me about depend upon my choice of future husband?"

"It may do."

"I am persuaded that it does not," said Blair firmly, disregarding the fact that she knew nothing of the sort. Chuck turned to look down at her.

"Look, Blair-"

Blair decided to risk the rain and turned away as the Bass-tard began speaking again. Unfortunately, her brilliant exit was marred slightly by a root sticking out of the soil. She tripped over it. _Stupid Bass. _A pair of strong arms caught her by the shoulders.

She realised for the first time how close they had been standing. So close that Blair could smell the scent that Chuck used, the expensive tobacco on his breath.

A she raised her eyes to meet his, Blair's own breath caught in her throat. Slowly, as if time was coming to a standstill, Chuck's lips descended onto hers.

They were surprisingly soft. Somehow, Blair hadn't expected them to be that soft, not that she'd ever thought about it before, of course. Nate's kisses had never felt like this, brief, chaste pecks. Increasingly, thoughts of Nate – of anyone else, really – slipped from her mind as Cguck's tongue explored her mouth. His large hands moved down her arms to her waist, and then indecently lower than her waist –

"Stop." Blair managed to wrench herself away to speak. Her mouth felt like jelly and she resisted with difficulty the urge to lick her lips.

She pushed Chuck away. "Don't ever do that again," she said angrily, although Chuck looked as surprised as she felt. This was probably because he hadn't ever been rejected by a woman before. He quickly regained his composure though, and smiled a smarmy smile.

"Why not?"

"Don't ever speak to me again," she warned, ignoring his comment. "Don't even look at me, or I shall tell Nate you have been indecently assaulting his _future wife_."

She spat the words out, then turned on her heel (carefully, this time) and hurried back to the path.

* * *

On the other side of the park, Dan Humphrey strolled past the fountains, on the return journey from delivering a poem to a publishing house.

Ahead of him, Nate Archibald was saying farewell to another young man. He turned away and caught sight of Dan.

"Good afternoon!" he called, so Dan had no choice but to answer. "Good afternoon."

"I remember you from last night," said Nate, with some effort of memory. "David Hunt?"

"Daniel Humphrey."

"That's the one. Listen. A fellow doesn't want to have a debt to another. Why don't you come to the ball my mother is holding tomorrow night? I'm sure she'll have no objection."

"Thank you, Mr Archibald – " Dan began to formulate an excuse in his mind, but Archibald once again cut him off at the quick.

"It's no bother. I'll send an invitation around tonight. If you'll excuse me, I need to return to the rest of my party." He grinned jovially at Dan, tipped his hat and left.

Dan was left to consider the horrific prospect of a society ball alone.


	4. Who's Afraid of Georgina Sparks?

**Vanity Blair**

_

* * *

_

_Chapter IV: Who's Afraid of Georgina Sparks?_

_SPOTTED: ... It is well known that Lady B was the toast of the town in her debutante years. The striking blonde broke a host of noble hearts before being snapped up by a Dutch nobleman. After his death, she removed to Paris, where she met the widower Sir B and they wed in an ostentatious ceremony less than a year ago. One anticipates with relish the fascinating scenes Lady S is sure to provide tonight at the Archibald ball... _

"I didn't know that Chuck Bass was your mystery suitor," said Serena to Blair the next day. The two were occupied on a shopping expedition with their mothers, and Serena had chosen the moment when the older women were occupied elsewhere with tiny silver pill boxes to corner Blair.

"He is not," said Blair at once. She risked a glance at Serena under the pretext of inspecting a pair of ivory satin gloves through a glass fronted shop window. "Absolutely he is not," she repeated in a softer tone. "Mr Bass merely wished to consult me on some trivial matter."

Serena surveyed her friend quizzically. "You seem flustered, B."

"I'm not. I mean – it is a little hot today, don't you agree?"

Serena looked up at the grey April clouds and shook her head. "Whatever you say, Blair." She changed the subject to something more mundane as their mothers approached. "I assume you are attending the Archibald ball tonight?"

As a matter of fact, Blair did attend the Archibald ball that night, arrayed in a white silk gown trimmed in gold, a matching ribbon and strings of pearls threaded through her hair.

"B," said Serena, hiding her lips behind a fan. The two girls were enjoying a rare breather together from dancing. "I feel there is something you should know."

"Oh, not you as well," said Blair irritably, toying with her own dainty fan. "I have had quite enough of people supposedly needing to tell me things. What if I do not wish to know?"

"Blair, there was a reason I left for France a year ago. Tell me truthfully – are you in love with Nate?"

Blair's left hand, holding the fan between delicate fingers, froze in mid air at the sudden change of subject. "How should I know what love feels like?" she answered, attempting a trivial tone.

"Does your heart flutter when he takes your hand? Do you see stars when he kisses you? Is he the only one you see when you walk into a room?"

Blair paused for a moment, considering, and then said flippantly: "I was always taught that love has no place in marriage. What does this have to do with your leaving for France? Do not tell me you have taken part in a secret marriage to a scandalous Frenchman? A dashing pirate?"

"Good evening, ladies," a cool voice interrupted them before Serena could reply.

The newcomer was a woman, scarcely older than themselves. She wore a gown of burgundy silk with a neckline to rival Serena's. Several feathers dipped coquettishly in her dark hair and her eyes appeared to be lined in kohl.

She pressed her fan to one rosy lip in an attitude of deep thought and spoke again. "I do believe you must be Miss Waldorf? Nathaniel Archibald's betrothed. You are quite the talk of the town, my dear." She turned to Blair's companion. "And Lady Serena. How delightful to see you again."

"Mrs Sparks," said Serena, in a colder tone than Blair had ever heard her use. She turned slightly away from her.

"Allow me to introduce myself," continued Mrs Sparks, her rouged lips widening into a smile. "My name is Georgina Sparks."

"Mrs Sparks is the widow of an army captain," explained Serena briefly, without making eye contact. "Blair, I am going to fetch a glass of ratafia."

"Very well, Serena," answered Blair. She felt an unexplained flash of irritation at her friend. "I shall remain here with Mrs Sparks."

Serena soon found herself a beau to guide her to the refreshments table and Mrs Sparks turned back to Blair.

"Shall we take a turn about the room?" said Mrs Sparks pleasantly. Blair agreed. This woman was not likeable, but might prove interesting.

* * *

"Please, Dan?"

"I said no, Jenny."

"Oh, please."

Jenny widened her eyes at her brother, who lounged on his bed with a book. His sister had swept in several minutes before, attired in a remade ball gown, and announced that Dan was to take her to the Archibald ball.

"No, Jenny. How did you know about it, anyhow?"

Jenny perched on the end of his bed, careful not to crumple her skirts. "Lady Mischief has been talking about it for weeks, and so has everyone else. It's the biggest ball of the Season. And then I found your invitation – how did _you_ manage an invitation, by the way?"

"A favour was forced on me," said Dan vaguely, closing his book.

"How do_ you_ know the Archibalds?"

"Why always the tone of surprise?" grumbled Dan. "I was at school with Nathaniel."

"And you never_ told_ me? How could you, Daniel Humphrey? You_ must_ take me to the ball tonight. How else am I ever to associate with society? Besides, you know who will be there."

"Who?"

"The lovely Lady Serena. You could go to the ball and sweep her off her feet."

Dan sighed. "It was one dance, Jenny. She won't even remember my name."

"All the more reason to dance with her again, then," argued his sister, pulling him off the bed.

* * *

"I met Lady Serena in Paris," said Mrs Sparks, as she and Blair began to stroll. "She was very popular there."

"I am not surprised. I quite expected her to elope with a French _duc_."

"Yes, indeed. She is very beautiful and most charming. I am told that some have their doubts, however, as to whether Lady Serena's reputation is quite... unblemished. There have been rumours-" She paused significantly.

"Yes?" Blair prompted.

"There have been rumours," continued Mrs Sparks in a lower tone, accompanied with a snap of her fan. "although I am not one to speak ill of others, nor spread tittle-tattle. But the on-dit is that Lady Serena has had a number of dalliances."

"Oh yes? With whom?"

"A handful of people, it seems. Lord Danvers, the Earl of Alverleigh, Nathaniel Archibald – oh, I do apologise, Miss Waldorf. I ought never to repeat such things."

"I am sure there is not a grain of truth in such rumours," said Blair defiantly.

"Not a whit," said Mrs Sparks, but her eyes danced.

* * *

The ball was not going quite as Jenny had expected. It was the largest one she had attended, with the greatest number of landed and titled persons, but instead of dancing with the handsomest in the room, she was stuck in a corner with a group of turbaned matrons and their plain daughters. Dan, the traitor, had somehow managed to find a group of former schoolmates, despite being the most unsociable person she knew.

"That is Lady Jersey," said one woman, pointing to a plump lady encased in pink satin.

"And over there is Georgina Sparks," cackled another. "Her husband died within a month of their wedding, leaving her a tidy sum."

Jenny gave a vague smile in acknowledgement and spotted her brother moving towards the refreshments table.

"If you would excuse me, ladies," she rose and smiled at them. "I must speak with my brother a moment."

"Dan," she hissed into his ear. "I've had enough. You may take me home."

Her brother, however, was clearly not listening. Instead his eyes were fixed in another direction, on a different blonde rapidly approaching the table. He swallowed visibly.

Lady Serena made no move to speak, instead giving a tinkling laugh at something her neighbour said.

Dan made a move to pick up a glass, but knocked it over instead. The liquid flowed out over delicate fingers.

"I'm so sorry," gabbled Dan, snatching at the tablecloth to wipe it off Lady Serena's hand.

"It's quite alright," said Lady Serena with a stunning smile. "I am Serena van der Woodsen."

"Daniel Humphrey." Jenny gave him a discreet elbow in the side. "And my sister, Jenny – Jennifer."

"How do you do? I do admire your gown, Miss Humphrey."

"Serena?" Nate Humphrey appeared beside her. "Serena, where have you been? I need to talk to you."

"I'm afraid I am busy at the moment, Nate. Mr Humphrey here has just asked me to dance." She winked at Dan. "We must speak again, Miss Humphrey. Your taste is quite inspiring."

* * *

Blair returned home that night to a darkened house that night, having successfully avoided Bass all evening. The butler, when he opened the door after a considerable amount of time, admitted her with a shaky bow and the words, "Her ladyship requests that you attend her in the parlour at once, miss."

"At this time of night?" wondered Blair aloud, but hurried away to the parlour nonetheless.


	5. Interview with a Millionaire

**Vanity Blair**

_

* * *

_

Chapter V: Interview with a Millionaire

_SPOTTED: At the Archibald ball – Miss W in conversation with the sharp tongued Widow S, Lady S dancing with the unknown junior H and his sister with Mr A. Mr B, interestingly, was nowhere to be seen... Tomorrow, however, the great and the good gather for the funeral of Sir H.W..._

The day of her father's funeral had the indecency to dawn dull but warm. Blair stood wan faced in dove grey next to her mother, who was pressing a lace edged handkerchief to her dry cheeks.

Thankfully it was over quickly and painlessly. She took a respite in the shade of some trees from the throng of mourners around her mother. Society seemed to enjoy funerals as much as weddings.

"Waldorf."

She made no move to turn as she heard his steps approaching. "What do you want, Bass?" she asked evenly. "Must you try to seduce me even at my father's grave?"

"I am truly sorry for your loss, Blair." The lightest of fingertips touched her shoulder. "Sincerely. However, the information I must impart is no less urgent. We cannot speak here. May I call on you?"

"You may not," said Blair woodenly. "I shall not have the town's most scandalous rake calling on my home, especially in broad daylight, and during the mourning period. And please do not address me in such a familiar term."

"Then you will call on me?" He moved to stand next to her and she saw an unexpectedly earnest look on his face. He offered his card. "Say you will, Blair."

"I will."

Blair left it two weeks before making a move to call on the Bass household.

She was perfectly within reason, she told herself. Her mother floated about the house like a diseased ghost and the servants were even more absent than usual. The acceptable mourning period – no callers, no calling, no social events – lasted six weeks. Blair could never be bored, but she preferred to be busy.

"Dorota?"

"Yes, Miss Blair?" Her lady's maid was the only servant to appear with any regularity.

Blair checked over her lavender dress, lamented the fact that such a colour did not suit her skin tone but decided it was suitably sombre and said, "I am going out." She ignored the maid's sharp gasp of disapproval. Dorota adhered to a moral code stricter than her own. "To visit Mr Bass."

"Miss Blair!" was all that was needed to convey the maid's feelings of outrage at the impropriety and the lateness of the hour. Blair had left it until darkness for her visit, in the hope that no one should see her and Bass might be out.

"You are coming with me," Blair said firmly. "Tell Lucy to inform my mother that I have a headache

Minutes later they were in a cab, wrapped in warm pelisses and cloaks. "Miss Blair, I do not think that this is wise," ventured Dorota.

_Neither do I,_ thought Blair, but said out loud, "Kindly keep your opinions to yourself, Dorota."

The coach driver descended to help them out. "Off to visit Mr Bass?" he enquired, a mocking smile on his face.

"I'll thank you not to be so insolent," snapped Blair, and refused to tip him.

Bass lived on a surprisingly respectable street. He did not live with his father and step family – so Blair could not use Serena as a cover for her visit – but unlike most of his age, he could afford to rent a whole house instead of just lodgings.

A grey haired butler answered promptly at Dorota's rap on the door. He had a respectable appearance. Blair breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, miss?"

Blair held out her card in one kid gloved hand. "Please inform Mr Bass that Miss Waldorf is here."

"Very good, miss. Do come in." He bowed, then vanished up the stairs.

A few minutes later he reappeared "Mr Bass will see you in his study. This way, miss. The maid may remain here."

Dorota cast a frightened look at her mistress. Blair turned away to follow the butler up the stairs and into the lion's den.

Chuck Bass sat in a leather armchair behind a polished oak desk. He started up when Blair entered, then walked quickly around the desk to usher her into a seat by the fire, waving away the butler. The servant departed, closing the door with a soft click.

Blair took a moment to inspect the room. Aside from the desk there was an assortment of chairs covered in burgundy damask, a small card table and above the fireplace, the portrait of a gently smiling woman, a contrast with the masculinity of the room. Either side of it were the marble figure of two females, clearly attired for warmer climes. The air smelt like the absurdly expensive cigars Bass liked to smoke. Clearly this was the inner sanctum.

She settled her hands on her lap and waited.

"I did not expect you to come," said Bass. He had settled himself against the mantelpiece in a relaxed position, tapping his fingers on the surface.

"I always keep my word," said Blair primly. "However, if my presence is not desired-" she made to stand.

"No – don't go."

"Well, what is it you want? And no foolish remarks, please."

Chuck stood up straight, pulling at his grey cravat. This item of clothing was normally in a state of elaborate yet suggestive disarray that took hours to prepare, but now it looked messier than ever.

"Sit down. Please." He pulled at another chair closer to the desk.

Blair sat, mostly because she had never Chuck Bass awkward before, and the prospect intrigued her.

"Would you like a drink?" Bass went behind his desk and opened a mahogany cabinet. Blair heard the chink of an exquisite crystal decanter. "Port or burgundy or ratafia..."

"No, thank you."

Chuck ran a hand through his dark hair and poured himself a glass of honey coloured liquid. He seated himself in the leather covered armchair on the other side of the desk and took a long drink.

"I know where your father is."

Blair looked at Chuck, an expression of polite confusion across her features. Bass must be drunker than he appeared, if he had missed the sombre clothes, the little black veiled hat, the funeral held a week earlier. He had attended it, in fact.

Bass leant back in his chair.

"I know that your father is not dead."


	6. Bass and Prejudice

**Vanity Blair**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Gossip Girl and quotes belong to Cecily von Ziegesar and the CW._

* * *

Chapter VI: Bass and Prejudice

_SPOTTED: S, arm in arm with both N and the newcomer J... is little queen B to be replaced so quickly?_

_

* * *

_

Lady Waldorf had been sat decorously on a sofa in the corner, the flickering shadows from the fire suddenly making her look very aged. She had looked up as her daughter entered, an expression of bewilderment on her face.

_Blair had never been the type to rush across a room and grasp anyone's knees in anxiety, but she approached with some speed and sat down close to her mother. "Mother? Is something the matter?"_

_Eleanor turned to look at her daughter, a tear spilling out across her unwrinkled skin. "We are ruined, Blair."_

_"What?"_

_Eleanor smiled bitterly. "Ruined. Your father has ruined us. His passion for gambling has gone too far."_

_"But – what can we do?"_

_Eleanor straightened her back. "We will lose everything if I do not act quickly. There is only one solution. We must declare that your father is dead."_

_"Dead? Mother, that is illegal! I f someone should find out-"_

_"They won't," snapped Eleanor. "Only you and I will know, Blair, and you will not speak of this to a soul. Think of what the scandal would do to your reputation. The charming Archibald boy."_

_Blair took a deep breath and then nodded._

Blair stared at Chuck in disbelief as he, insensitive creature, polished off the scotch.

"That is slander," she said flatly.

"And yet you don't seem too eager to deny it, or demand why I made such an accusation, Miss Waldorf," replied Bass. The atmosphere in the room had changed since Bass clearly felt he had the upper hand, whether his courage was Dutch or not. Actually the alcohol seemed to have steadied his nerves.

"You are speechless, in fact," continued Bass. He allowed a small smirk to come to his lips. "Yet I know for a certainty that the gentleman formerly known as Sir Harold Waldorf currently resides in a small house in Montpellier, under the name of Henri Chevalier. Due to his supposed death, his entailed estates go to an estranged cousin and Miss Blair Waldorf, his only daughter, is left with only a very small fortune."

Somehow Blair found her voice again. "Very astute, Bass. What is your point?"

"No point, Miss Waldorf. I just wished to ensure that you were aware of this information."

Blair swallowed. "Are you threatening me?"

Bass focused on his glass, setting it down on his desk with a calculated precision. "I would never do that, Blair."

Blair let out a cold, sarcastic laugh. "I think you would, Bass. I have some modicum of intelligence. But for the moment, let us pretend that you aren't threatening me. Why then would you inform me of your knowledge?"

Bass lifted one long finger, topped with a single gold signet ring, and ran it lightly around the rim of his drinking vessel. "I have no wish to threaten you, Blair," he repeated, drawing out the syllables in a way which made Blair want to shiver. "I simply have a proposition which I feel may be mutually beneficial to the both of us."

Blair kept her mouth firmly closed.

Bass withdrew his finger and continued, "I will be frank with you, Blair. Despite your liking to deny and ignore it, we have in fact known each other far longer than anyone else. Since we were both mere infants. There is no one who knows more than you, I am sure, of all my weaknesses and excesses."

"Spare me the catalogue of your gambling and womanising, Bass."

"If you insist. In short, the decadence of my lifestyle has finally attracted the attention of my father. He has grown weary of my debts and so-called _reputation, _decided that it might damage his business interests and offered me an ultimatum. Either I leave for the continent at once and take my leave of him and this country forever –"

"That sounds perfect," cut in Blair.

"Unfortunately I have already sampled my share of foreign delights and grown tired of leaves me to consider the second option: settle down with a wife and become a respectable pillar of society."

"That sounds most unlike you, Bass. Besides, what kind of fool would consent to become_ your_ wife?"

"That is exactly why I turn to you, my fair lady."

"You wish _me _to find you a suitable wife? Allow me to inform you that none of my acquaintance would suit your tastes, nor would I wish upon them such a curse. I-" Suddenly realisation dawned. "Me? You wish to marry me? Is this your twisted kind of blackmail?"

"Not blackmail, I assure you, Blair." He reached out one hand across the desk and traced one finger down her cheek. "I myself am of the opinion that we would deal extremely well together."

She slapped his hand away. "I told you not to touch me, Bass. And I assure you that we would not."

He leaned back in his chair, watching her with a languid smile. "Think of it, Blair. I come from the richest family in England. All the money you could wish for. Clothes and jewels and holidays. A house to yourself, if you wished it, with a score of servants to tend your every whim."

"Is that all you think I care for, Bass? Then you know nothing about me. And allow me to remind you that I am already engaged to someone else." She stood, extending her left hand and allowing the flawless diamond to shine beneath his eyes. "To your best friend, in fact."

Bass decided to ignore her words and looked at the jewel beneath his nose. "A little vulgar, a rock of that size, is it not? Not what I would have chosen for you."

Blair folded her arms. "Fortunately you shall never have that honour," she spat."You nauseate me."

"All this talk about how you must marry Nate or the world will end..." Bass mocked."Face it. He doesn't love you."

Blair remained stony faced. "Who says I love him? And now that you have insulted me beyond belief, I shall take my leave."

She turned towards the door. Bass called after her, "What makes you so sure I won't spill your little secret? Lady Mischief would have a field day."

Blair paused in the doorway. "Your dubious honour as a gentleman, _sir_, and the fact that I have something to hold over your head also."

Blair awoke the next day to see Dorota enter her bedroom as usual, bearing a silver tray balancing a cup of hot chocolate. She placed the tray on a side table, opened the curtains and served Blair her drink.

What was not usual was the finely wrapped package also on the tray.

"What's that?" asked Blair, raising herself on her elbow and taking the cup offered by Dorota.

Dorota beamed. "It came very early this morning by a footman. Perhaps it is from Mr Nate?"

"I hope so, Dorota," said Blair happily. She had not seen Nate for a while, but a present from him would make everything alright. She picked up the package, expecting to see a note attached, but there was nothing. Still, Nate wasn't much of a writer, so she opened the package anyway.

Inside was a folded note and a delicate filigree box of gold scrolling in the shape of a miniature chest. She flicked open the tiny latch. Inside, on a bed of silvery satin, was a pear shaped ruby, flanked by round diamonds on a golden chain. She dangled the necklace from her fingers, admiring the exquisite cut, then unfolded the letter.

Her heart sank.

_Rubies suit you so much more than diamonds. CB_

Furious, Blair called out "Fetch me some paper, Dorota! And a pen! Quickly!"

She crawled out of bed, put on a dressing gown and settled at her desk. Dorota hurriedly produced the paper, but when faced with a blank paper and a pen slowly dripping ink into puddles on the surface, she could think of nothing to write, much to her annoyance.

Eventually she gave up and handed the gift to Dorota, with the words, "Seal this up, Dorota, and send it straight back to Chuck Bass."

Dorota frowned in confusion. "Mr Chuck? What about Mr Nate?"

"It wasn't from Mr Nate, Dorota. It was from Mr Chuck." Ignoring Dorota's gasp, for it was beyond impropriety for an unmarried female to receive such a valuable present from an unmarried male, not to mention Chuck's reputation, she went on, "Don't tell my mother, Dorota. Don't tell anyone."


	7. Sense and Subterfuge

**Vanity Blair**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Gossip Girl and quotes belong to Cecily von Ziegesar and the CW._

* * *

Chapter VII: Sense and Subterfuge

_SPOTTED: A mysterious cloaked female figure entering the junior Bass residence. Meanwhile, it is rumoured that B may attend Lady Coates' musical evening tonight. For the pleasure of the Misses Coates' talents? We think not..._

Much to her surprise, Blair received a visitor that same day, and thankfully it was not Bass. Serena arrived on the doorstep, her mother in tow.

A maid brought them tea in the parlour, where the daughters had situated themselves away from their mothers. Blair sat calmly, running over recent events in her mind. It was, infuriatingly, all she could think about. She wondered whether she should confide in Serena. It would be nice to recapture some of the intimacy they had shared before Serena had left for Paris.

She remembered the days they had spent walking in the grounds of the Constance Billiard School for Young Ladies, arm in arm, gossiping about their crushes and fellow pupils. But Serena seemed changed, somehow. They had scarcely spent much time alone together since Serena had returned, and when they had they only talked about mundane things – the latest fashion and gossip, never about their own lives.

Serena was pacing up and down in front of the fireplace, wringing her hands. She had never been good under stress.

According to the social columns of Lady Mischief, whom Blair had to rely on for gossip during her period of morning, Serena had become friends with an unknown female with the initial J, who was becoming famous for her sense of style. Looking at Serena, she did look a little more put together than usual, thought Blair idly to herself.

"Would you like some tea?" she offered, mind elsewhere. She poured out two cups mechanically.

"Blair," Serena was saying, having finally come to a stop particularly close to the grate.

"You and I have been friends for so long, haven't we?"

"Yes," answered Blair vaguely, recalling them being thrown together on the first day at their very school. The unlikely pair – tall, blonde Serena, disorganised and chaotic, and the tiny, dark Blair, so precise and polished – had become firm friends.

"So I know – I hope when I tell you that – oh B," sighed Serena, dropping into a chair in characteristic Serena fashion. "Blair, last summer, Nate and I – we..." she stopped.

"Nate?" echoed Blair, putting down her teacup and saucer with a trembling hand. She had begun to feel a little hollow inside.

"Nate," agreed Serena. She took a deep breath. "We didn't plan it, Blair. I would never have wanted it to be this way. If only I hadn't – oh, Blair. It was my fault."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, Blair – surely you know of – of such things as – as carnal relations?"

Blair blushed violently. "Yes – what are you saying, Serena?"

Serena ducked her head looking at the floor. "I – Nate – I never meant to, Blair, I swear –"

Blair rose to her feet unsteadily. Her head felt like it was spinning, her ribs constricted like she couldn't breathe. "You – you slept with Nate?" she asked in an unnaturally high voice.

Serena made no answer, just hung her head. A moment later she whispered, "I'm sorry Blair-"

Blair stride to the door and pulled it open wide. "Get out."

"I – what?"

"You heard me," said Blair coolly, fixing her gaze on the gilt candlestick behind Serena's head so she didn't have to look at her face. "Get out. I'm sure you know where the door is."

"But B-"

"Remove yourself from my house with all possible speed."

Serena slunk past, looking forlornly at Blair, who refused to acknowledge her. Blair closed the door gently behind her, leant against it for a moment, then rushed to the large porcelain bowl holding an arrangement of flowers and threw up into it.

About an hour later Eleanor came to find her. She looked surprised to see Blair alone, staring dully at a book of poetry. "Did Serena leave early?"

"Yes. She had a prior engagement."

"Oh. How strange. Her mother mentioned nothing of it. They have invited you to accompany them to the Coates' tonight. I feel it would not be seemly for me to attend so soon."

"I don't wish to attend tonight."

"What? Blair, you've spoken of nothing else all week."

"I don't feel well."

"Nonsense. You've been fine all day."

"I have a slight headache. Besides, surely it is not seemly for me if it is not for you."

"Blair, whatever is the matter?" asked Eleanor, assessing Blair with a shrewd gaze. "Have you had an argument with Serena? Tonight will be the perfect time to make it up with her. You two have been friends for years – there is nothing that could keep you apart."

Blair sat in the carriage later that day, determined to do nothing of the sort. She stared fixedly at the opposite wall whilst Lily kept up a wall of mindless chatter between the two silent girls.

When they arrived, Blair quickly made an excuse to go to the other side of the room and speak to a girl she detested. She mingled amongst the crowd waiting for the entertainment to start and then pretended to listen to the conversation of a small group of women laughing over a ridiculous gown.

"You decided to return my gift," said a smooth voice beside her. Blair almost jumped out of her wits. It was rare to see Chuck Bass at any sort of social occasion, especially one which didn't involve drinking or gambling. "I'm heartbroken," he told her, though he looked nothing of the sort.

"Of course I returned it," snapped Blair, fluttering her fan in front of her face to hide her high colour. "What were you thinking, sending me any sort of gift?"

"Only of you, dear Blair."

She scoffed. "It's Miss Waldorf, thank you."

"I was right, though, admit it."

"What on earth are you talking about? And keep your voice down. You're noticeable enough as it is with that dreadful scarf."

Bass looked hurt. "What's wrong with my scarf?"

Blair gave him an irritated look and turned away.

He followed. "Don't you want to know what I was right about?"

"Not particularly."

He caught up with her and muttered, "Rubies do suit you more than diamonds."

"They do not," she replied, nettled.

"They do. Diamonds make you look washed out."

"They do not!"

"Admit it. You liked the necklace."

"I did not," Blair lied through her teeth. "Go away."

"Would you prefer emeralds next time?"

"Don't you have someone else to torture?"

"Probably, but I choose you."

"Excuse me if I am not flattered," said Blair, and stalked off to find a seat as far away from Bass as possible. Bass simply smirked at her retreating back.

Behind him, Jenny Humphrey smiled to herself.


	8. The Nate Correspondence

**Vanity Blair**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Gossip Girl and quotes belong to Cecily von Ziegesar and the CW._

* * *

Chapter VIII: The Nate Correspondence

_SPOTTED: Rumours of CB courting an as yet unnamed lady abound across the city. Is CB finally ready to settle down? And just what is the identity of this mystery female, talented enough to keep the famed bachelor on a string?_

_Dear Nate,_

_I find there is an urgent matter I need to discuss with you. Will you be so good as to meet me at Hyde Park Corner tomorrow morning at ten?_

_Yours, & Faithfully_

_Blair Waldorf_

Blair's heart thumped as she read that morning's Lady Mischief column over breakfast. She forced herself to releax._ As yet unnamed..._that meant they had no idea who Chuck was "courting" (more like attempting to bribe) and certainly no one would consider the victim to be Blair Waldorf, paragon of virtue. Most likely they had simply seen Chuck at a jeweller's.

She set out shortly after breakfast to meet Nate, who had agreed to her request in a short note. As usual, he was a little late, his normal smiling, boyishly charming self.

He offered her his arm after the exchanged greetings. She accepted it and dismissed Dorota, who sent her a disapproving glance and walked away.

"What did you wish to see me about?" asked Nate as they started off into the park. Blair decided to ignore the fact that his eyes were on the riders on Rotten Row. "If it is the date of the wedding you simply must ask my mother-"

"It's not that."

"Oh." He was silent for a moment. "I don't mind what kind of flowers we have."

"It's not that either."

"Oh."

Blair stopped and unlinked her arm from his. "Nate, I can't marry you."

"What?"

He looked truly confused, but instead of her heart breaking, Blair couldn't bear the bile that rose in her throat when she thought about him and Serena. Being this close to him made goose bumps appear all over her body, and they weren't the same as she got near Bass. These were the alarm bells ringing that told her to flee or be eaten.

She dropped her gaze. "I cannot marry you."

"But why not?"

Blair was silent for a moment, not wishing to bring up the subject of Serena in such a public place. Finally, praying for Nate's discretion, she said, "My financial circumstances are not what they once were."

"What do you mean?"

"I have lost a great deal of my fortune due to my father's death."

"Is that all?"

"To marry you would be most deceitful." Blair removed the lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her dry eyes, wondering whether she should pretend to swoon.

"Er – how large a loss, exactly?"

"What?" Blair looked up, perplexed. "Erm, a lot."

"Ah." Nate cleared his throat. "That is unfortunate."

Blair made an accidental choking noise in her own throat. "I thought you loved me!"

"Oh – I do, Blair, I do."

Angry words tumbled out of Blair's mouth. "I know about you and Serena."

Nate stood stock still for a moment, his mouth dropped open. Then he said, "Please don't tell anyone, Blair."

"Tell anyone? Oh, you are unbelievable, Nate! A liar and a coward and a hypocrite!" Having absolutely no idea and no care for what she was saying, Blair pulled off her left glove, wrenched off the sparkling ring and threw it at him.

He barely caught it as she stormed back towards the gates of Hyde Park.

"Blair!"

Ignoring his cries, she hurried to the edge of the road and began signalling frantically for a cab.

A rather more svelte vehicle drew up beside her and stopped, a polished carriage drawn by a pair of fine greys, and Bass drawled, "What have we here? Why, if it isn't my dear friend Miss Waldorf. Taken up ditching our paramours in the park, have we?"

"Be gone, Bass."

"Might I offer you a lift, Miss Waldorf?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

He raised an eyebrow, twirling his gold-topped cane. Blair looked around, weighing up the chances of an empty cab appearing any time soon and whether she would be seen entering a carriage alone, then cast her doubts to hell and ascended the coach.

"What are you doing here, Bass?" She asked, patting down the stray strands of hair under her bonnet as the vehicle set off again.

Bass stretched out his legs, admiring the shine of his boots. "Simply driving by in an innocent perambulation, Waldorf. Tell me, did the emeralds not take your fancy either?"

Pondering whether Bass had ever done a single innocent thing in his life, Blair was rapidly brought back down to earth by his question. She recalled the dangling green earrings that had arrived earlier that morning, this time unaccompanied by a note, but of course she had no doubt of the sender. They were ridiculously large, totally unsuitable and almost irresistible, but then Blair had always prided herself on her self-control.

"No, Bass. For the last time, please refrain from sending me gifts. You will waste a fortune in useless trinkets."

"Lucky I have several fortunes to waste, then, and personally I don't see it as a waste. Moving on, I see that you have finally tired of diamonds also," he added mischievously, nodding towards Blair's unadorned left hand.

Blair blushed and hurriedly pulled her glove back on. "I found Nate and I weren't so suited after all."

"I _see_," said Bass. "Have you considered my offer any further?"

"Your blackmail threat, you mean. And no, I have not. I don't care if you go to the press, Bass. _Nothing_ could ever induce me to marry you. You are ill mannered, unscrupulous and completelu immoral, and nothing you do can hurt me any further." To her horror, Blair realised that her eyes were now filling with real tears, and she quickly pressed her hands to her cheeks.

To his credit, Bass did not tease her any further, but pulled the immaculately creased silk handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her without a word.

Blair dabbed self-consciously at her lids and was glad when they came to a stop outside her home.

* * *

A sapphire bracelet, a pearl choker, even an exquisite amethyst hair ornament that wrung Blair's heart as she ordered Dorota to remove it. By strict social protocol, she knew that should return each gift that arrived faithfully every morning unopened, but the temptation to see what Bass' admittedly excellent taste had selected was too great. At times it was almost flattering, but then she remembered that the sender was Bass, the same Bass who had probably learned to chase after skirt before he had learnt to ride.

She wondered whether she should go to the trouble of steaming open each package and then sealing it back up again to make it appear untampered, then dismissed the idea. Bass probably had one of his legion of servants dealing with it anyway.

Today's offering came in an octagonal box of green leather. She pressed it open. Inside was a brooch in the shape of a six petal flower, set with small opals alternating with pink sapphires.

Blair marvelled at the stones, which had always fascinated her. They seemed to have hidden depths, appearing white with glints of blue and green and pink.

Clutching the brooch absent-mindedly, she wondered over to her bedroom window and looked out over the bustling streets of London without really seeing them.

Tonight she and her mother were to attend dinner at the Basses' – the elder Basses – and she would be seeing Nate and Serena again for the first time. The thought made Blair's stomach feel as if icy hands were clasping her insides.

Unfortunately she had no way of shirking this event. She would have to face them sooner or later, her logical mind knew, and more to the point Eleanor had been insistent on it, in the few icy words she had spoken to Blair since learning of her broken engagement. Blair had only been able to offer up the words "We are not as suited as I believed," as an excuse and her mother was less then ecstatic.

Blair rested her empty hand on the window sill and stared out into the morning light. The thought of Nate still stung, more out of wounded pride than heartbreak, as did the near betrayal of Serena, and she felt a cold desire for revenge, to cause them pain in return.

Resting her forehead against the cool panes of glass, Blair Waldorf made her decision.


	9. Gone with the Bass

**Vanity Blair**

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_Disclaimer: Gossip Girl and quotes belong to Cecily von Ziegesar and the CW._

* * *

Chapter IX: Gone with the Bass

_SPOTTED: A tearful B in Hyde Park, flinging her ring at her former betrothed. Trouble in paradise, B? In the meantime, we hear C is still pursuing his lady love with glittering gifts... has C found one nut too hard to break?_

Thanks to the rapidly approaching days of summer, it was still light when the Waldorf carriage arrived outside the Bass establishment. Eleanor stepped out first, admonishing her daughter with a sharp, "Quickly, Blair!"

Blair followed after her mother as the butler Treeves showed them into the drawing room where Serena, her younger brother Eric, Lily, Sir Bart and the Archibalds awaited them. To her mixed relief and annoyance, Chuck Bass was also in attendance.

He noticed at once the jewel affixed to the blush pink gown she was wearing, the better to accentuate it. There was no indication in his facial expression, but his head froze for a moment in the cursory glance he had turned to give her as she entered.

As she walked past him to take a seat, his hand reached out unseen and gave her arm a swift pinch, causing Blair to give an unwitting cry of "Ouch!"

The room stilled. Blair flung a hand to her brow, ignoring her mother's glares, and said, "My apologies. A sudden sharp pain in my head."

This gained her several suspicious glances, not least when Bass rose and said, "It is probably the heat. Would you care to take a breath outside? The cool air might refresh you. Lily, if you will excuse us?"

Lily nodded her permission as Bass took Blair's arm and steered her through the open doors and on to the terrace.

Standing on the other side of the room, pretending to admire a statue on the mantelpiece, Nate said to Serena in a low voice: "They are plotting something."

"Don't be ridiculous, Nate," Serena muttered back. "Blair detests Chuck."

"Serena - Blair knows."

Serena bit her lip, cast a frightened look about the room and said quietly, "Yes. I told her." Ignoring Nate's intake of breath, she went on, "We can't talk about this here, Nate," and added in a louder tone, "Yes, it is lovely, is it not? A gift from one of my mother's dear friends."

Outside, Blair shook off Bass' hand and said, "I'm getting a little tired of you dragging me about everywhere, Bass."

It was a poor attempt at an insult. Bass brushed it off with, "You don't put up much of a fight."

Blair turned and stared steadfastly out into the garden. Bass watched her. "You are wearing it."

Blair tapped her fan coquettishly against her palm. "Perhaps I simply like pretty jewels."

"You told me you cared for more than that," he said with no hint of sarcasm or tease, catching hold of her wrist. "Am I to take this as acceptance of my offer?"

"Oh, alright," said Blair waspishly, as if this was a trial to her. "But there are some conditions."

"Conditions? Is this a business contract?"

"If you prefer to think of it that way."

"And if I refuse to submit to these conditions?"

"Why, then, you don't get the delight of having me for a wife," answered Blair, smiling sunnily at him. "And you catch the next passage to Calais."

"Very well, then," sighed Bass. "What are your conditions?"

Blair tapped the stone wall with her fan. "It is very simple. I marry you and you do not touch me."

"Not even if you want to be touched?"

"Stop picking loopholes, Bass," said Blair, ignoring his attempts at a euphemism.

"Chuck."

"What?"

"If we are to be married you can at least call me Chuck, even if I am not permitted to touch you with a ten foot bargepole."

Blair sighed, suppressing a smile. "Very well, _Chuck_. In addition, I shall require separate quarters, of course. I don't think separate establishments are quite necessary, besides which it would cause an awful lot of gossip – what are you smirking at, Bass?"

"Your business sense, my dear. Do continue."

"Well. Ah – on the subject of mistresses."

"Yes?"

"You can't have any."

"Can't have _any? _Not even one? Yet I cannot touch my own wife?"

"Fine," said Blair, flustered. "Have as many mistresses as you like, only keep them away from me."

"Agreed," said Chuck complacently. He had in fact given up any mistresses or dalliances long ago, when the possibility of marrying Blair had first appeared on the horizon, but he was not about to enlighten her as to this fact. "Anything else?"

When she remained silent, he prompted, "An allowance, perhaps?"

"Oh yes, of course."

"How much?"

"Well – however much you think sufficient."

"And how many jewels am I allowed to give you?"

Before Blair could answer or even give him a scathing glare, their conversation was interrupted by the words, "Dinner is served, sir and madam," in the dry tone of Treeves.

Some fool had seated her directly opposite Serena and the tension was palpable. Thankfully she managed to survive dinner by exchanging desultory remarks with her neighbours, and not one word with Serena. That was until the end, when coffee had been served and Blair was beginning to think longingly of her bed.

More fool her.

Chuck stood abruptly and cleared his throat, looking at them all with an expression that said the cat had got the cream. "I have an announcement to make, if I may." Then he smirked at Blair and turned to face his father, at the head of the table.

Dread wound its merry way around Blair's heart.

"I have asked Miss Waldorf to become my wife, and she has graciously assented."

There was a shocked silence. Blair wanted to curl up and die, but contented herself with thinking up ways in which she could torture the smirk off of Bass' – her _fiancé's_ – face.

Lily recovered first. "Congratulations, my dear," she said with a genuine smile. "I wish you the very best."

She was followed by Eric, who said congratulations to them both. Most of the other guests were simply staring, Serena, Nate and Eleanor at Blair, Bart at his son, an unreadable expression on his face.

The party broke up soon after that.

* * *

Jenny Humphrey leafed through an old copy of the _Morning Post _to read Lady Mischief's column again, and said, "I haven't been to a ball in simply ages."

Daniel Humphrey did not look up from the page he was covering in his spiky black scrawl. "Whatever you're getting at, Jenny, the answer is no."

Jenny slumped back on her brother's bed. "I wasn't getting at anything, brother dear," she said in sugary tones. "But don't you think it is just a little unfair that my brother has contacts among the ton and won't even use them to wrangle a few more invites for your sorry sister to meet people."

"How about you let this struggling author get on with his work so he can make his sister a fortune without her having to sell herself to a rich husband."

Jenny rolled over on the bed. "Ha ha," she said sarcastically. She rested her head against the pillow. Thinking of Lady Mischief and rich husbands, Jenny wondered idly why that personage – whoever he or she or they might be – had not used the information she had posted to them directly after the musical evening. Jenny had told them clearly that Blair Waldorf had been the recipient of Chuck Bass' gift, and had received a small sum of money the following day in return for her services, but Lady Mischief still only referred obliquely to the scandal.

Still, at least she had made a worthy amount of progress over a short time. Blair was no longer engaged to Nate, and he in turn was free to pursue other debutantes. Coincidentally, Jenny was now a firm acquaintance of his...

* * *

Well, school has started again so updates shall become rare creatures, though I'm not quite ready to give up next. Still, any inspiration for what should happen next...?

xoxo


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